


Peregrine

by Ashling



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/F, Horses, a gay a day keeps the sadness at bay, to be specific - the Appleby Horse Fair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 12:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: She blamed it on the sprained ankle.





	Peregrine

May had made many rash decisions before, mostly in the wake of the war, but none as rash as this. She blamed it on the sprained ankle.

If she hadn't sprained her ankle, she wouldn't have limped awkwardly into the dining room and tripped on the edge of the rug. If she hadn't tripped on the edge of the rug, she wouldn't have fallen and hit her head on the edge of a gilt-edged credenza. If she hadn't hit her head, she wouldn't have had a concussion, a concussion that stole not only a few memories from her, but also the most precious parts of the season. Some trainers loved the time of the races, the late summer when they got to finally see all their work put into action in some of the most anticipated races in the world. 

Not May, though. No, she liked best the spring foaling season and the early summer auctions, seeing all the possibilities in the world. She was never happier then when she had on her sturdiest old boots and was squatting in the mud beside a mare in labor, or when she gently but firmly pulled a yearling's lips back to have a good look at those yellow teeth. If she had been a farmer, it would have been seeding rather than harvest that was her favorite time of year. But thanks to that bloody sprained ankle, she missed almost all of it while she was resting, restlessly, in bed. She missed the birth of six foals and the failed birth of a seventh. She missed most of the key auctions and all the internecine trainer drama that came with it, including one auction where apparently there had been a murder attempt. She missed the smell of the stables near the end of her doctor-mandated bedrest so much that she wholly surrendered her dignity and asked her butler to carry her downstairs and wheel her to the stables in her wheelchair. Poor Algernon had done as she asked, though he really looked as though he thought the walls of the Carleton estate might fall down on his head for such an impropriety. It still wasn't the same when all she could really do was look and talk.

In short, by the time she was allowed to walk and travel again, May had lost her mind. It was the only rational explanation as to why, when hearing about the Appleby New Fair from her head groom, she had demanded to be taken there.

"I'm not sure it's what you're used to," said Gavin. To his credit, this was the most diplomatic way to put it. Later on, when she bullied him into taking her there in that half-charming, half-imperious way she had, he probably wished that he'd been much blunter. He probably wished he'd said,  _This event is not for you and I don't want you to come._

But standing there in her big boots and her little plum cardigan and her most mulish expression, she knew she'd win him over. Most of her house staff either actively disliked her or at least compared her unfavorably with her mother and father, but in the stables, she reigned supreme over not only the hides of every horse but also the hearts of every man there. 

So to the Appleby Fair she went.

"I need to check up with a few of my relatives, all right?" Gavin said as their car neared the fair. May was growing very excited. She could smell the horses in the air. "This is the only time I have to see some of them, to visit with some of them. They're Kale."

 

"Pardon?"

"Kale. Welsh. They're all the way from Wales."

"Oh, I don't mean to get in your way, Gavin. Just drop me off, then. I'll have a look around myself."

"You can't wander the place by yourself."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Look, I'm leaving you with one of my cousins for a bit. Bran will take care of you. You'll have time to watch the horses go down the flashing lane and maybe a couple of races before today's auction, all right? I'll meet you at the auction."

"All right," May said absently, nose pressed to the window. She could see the flashing lane from where they were already, and her mind was already getting lost as she took in the seemingly endless stream of horses trotting by. For about an hour and a half, that was all there was. Passers-by gave her the strangest looks and several of them went up to Bran and asked in various languages that she didn't understand--and occasionally in English--what the hell she was doing there, to which Bran, a stoic boy of seventeen, usually just shrugged and said something about Gavin wanting to stay employed. But May was in her happy place. The air was very fresh and some of these breeds she'd genuinely never seen before in her life. Every horse, from the shortest to the one with the least healthy teeth, was still a beautiful horse. She couldn't say that about humans.

When Bran suggested they go take a look at the races while those were relatively informal and the betting around them was relatively quite tame, May almost turned him down. She could have stood there all day, just staring. But if there was one thing she loved more than observing the trotting gait of a horse, it was observing the speed and technique of a horse and rider galloping together, so she lifted her skirt (hem already muddied), and followed him to a big open field that had been set up as an informal track.

May was all set to sink back into the earthy heaven of watching the form and figure of a few dozen horses, and the ripples of the lush green grass the wind almost had her there, but then her quick ears picked up on a high-pitched neigh.

One bay mare, young, probably three or four years old, a little green still, had been spooked by something--it didn't take much to spook a green horse--and had bolted, was barreling straight for the barricade separating the racetrack part of the field and part where the tents had been set up as temporary shops. Before anyone could so much as shout for help, a rider on a white horse tore after it, going from standing to a gallop in maybe the most exquisite natural start that May had ever seen in her life. As they drew level, the rider leaned over and snatched the long rope of the runaway's lead out of thin air, a feat made even more impressive by the fact that the white horse had no saddle on. The rider must have had legs like steel clamps. When they finally managed to halt both horses and slide off, May realized with a thrill that it was a woman with a long dark braid that couldn't half contain her hair, with wisps and curls flying out left and right. The woman, rather than trying to punish the runaway, was soothing it, one gentle on its velvety gray muzzle. 

"Who was that?" said May, once she'd got her breath back.

"What?" Even at playing dumb, Bran was a terrible actor. May didn't have time for it. 

_"Who was that?"_

 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to thosepeakybastards for introducing me to the fabulous concept of the Appleby horse festival, because I love horses
> 
> shoutout to herequeerandreadytofight for reminding me we need more queer in the fandom
> 
> shoutout to me for making bad decisions and overcommitting like a champ #AGayADayKeepsTheSadnessAtBay
> 
> I have no idea where this story is going. subscribe to find out. comment to power me up. YEET
> 
> //
> 
> edit 01/17/19: I admit it. I admit it. I will never finish this. I'm so sorry


End file.
